Categorical
by a. loquita
Summary: Sam, Jack, and Daniel attend a cocktail party at the Academy. A one-shot from Jack's perspective that came from speculating about the reasons men are attracted to Sam. S/J takes place sometime after season 8


Categorical

By a. loquita

Summary: Sam, Jack, and Daniel attend a cocktail party at the Academy. A one-shot from Jack's perspective that came from speculating about the reasons men are attracted to Sam. (S/J takes place sometime after season 8)

Rating: T

Peter Jordan elbows me, "Remember that time, O'Neill?"

I respond with a half-hearted, "Ah, yeah."

I'm not paying attention to the reminiscing that Jordan and Marlis have been doing. I haven't seen them in decades and recalling exploits from when we were all in our 20's seems depressing to me. I don't want to be rude enough to walk away, so I feign interest. I owe these guys that much, they remotely had a hand in saving my life once.

This reception at the Academy is not typically my scene. It's the four D's from Hell in my opinion: drinks, dinner, dancing, and dress blues. Worst of all, I have to make conversation with people I could care less about. But I gave in. A certain blonde saying, "Come on, Sir, it'll be fun," is hard to say no to.

She's another reason I'm finding it hard to concentrate on the conversation at hand. Carter should be here by now but I scan the crowd over and over, not seeing her anywhere. Did she get stuck in traffic? Did they call her into the SGC on an emergency? Did she get into an accident on the way? My heart drops to my stomach. No, I'm sure that's not it. She's fine, she's safe, she's just late.

Marlis interrupts my thoughts. "Next the guy tells us, heck, the lady was willing who am I to say no?" The guys crack up laughing but I don't break a smile.

Christ, they're going gray, increasing around the middle, married with 2.5, and living in the 'burbs… shouldn't they be passed telling stories like this? Are their lives that sad, the best of it was lived long ago? I flinch. I don't even have the wife and kid anymore to show for myself. Apparently, I'm even more pathetic than they are.

I watch Carter enter the room and my breath catches. She's not wearing dress blues as I expected, even though they weren't required. The dress she is wearing is the color that appears in the sky just seconds before the sun falls below the horizon up at the lake in Minnesota. It's floor length and sleeveless. She doesn't doll herself up with jewelry or a lot of makeup, she doesn't need to. She's incredible.

"Wow," says Marlis. Jordan whistles low in agreement.

I follow their sight line and know they are looking at Carter just like I am. It makes me recoil. I have this urge to smear the looks off their faces and drive ideas out of their heads.

"That guy is a lucky man," says Jordan.

I swing my head back and observe Daniel on Sam's arm. I knew they were coming together. But I also know that Jordan's assumption is way off. I've watched Daniel and Carter side by side for years. I've seen them uninhibited, sleeping together on cold nights off world, snuggling to share warmth. I've seen them work in tandem, complete each other's sentences, bicker like an old married couple. It is comfortable, safe, and affectionate between them but without a doubt, the very definition of platonic.

I observe them across the room together now and I smirk as Sam catches my eye after having scanned the crowd. She leans into Daniel's ear to say something and they both start over. When it becomes apparent they are headed my way, Marlis asks surprised, "You know her?"

"Yep," I reply.

As they approach, Daniel says, "Hey there, Jack."

"Daniel," I acknowledge, and then turn to Sam. "Carter, you look nice." I'm impressed that I could keep my tone so dispassionate. Especially since the way she looks is a thousand times more than simply 'nice.'

"Thank you, Sir."

"Aren't you going to introduce us, Jack?" says Marlis, a little too eager for my liking. Where's the guy's wife of over 14 years when you need her?

But I reluctantly give in.

"General Martin Marlis and Colonel Peter Jordan, meet Dr. Daniel Jackson and Colonel Samantha Carter."

"Nice to meet you, Samantha," says Jordan, purposely lingering in their handshake a little too long.

I roll my eyes and Daniel sees it. I'm sure he's enjoying this torturing of me. But I also know he's as protective of Sam as I am. If these two morons or anyone else goes too far, Daniel will be right along side me throwing punches. Of course, we'd have to get passed Carter who'd already be kicking ass. But that's beside the point. It's the thought that counts.

Sam exchanges pleasantries with them. She's the picture of friendly, polite, and oblivious to the fact these guys are only talking to her because she's hot. They could care less about her current long-winded explanation of string theory. Marlis and Jordan are doing an impressive job of hanging on her every word as if it matters. Pigs.

I've watched this happen for years around the SGC and I hate it. It's probably why when she starts in on some lecture with me, I always cut her off. I don't want to be like they are. I know she's hot and I like looking at her too. But I also care about her.

What people often don't take the time to discover is that Sam is compassionate and loyal. She's funny, but she hides her sense of humor, something about being professional she always tells me. And despite popular opinion, Sam is not actually a geek. Well, much less so than her other science friends. But these traits and many others get lost for most people. Like looking into the sun, her beauty can blind. When I see others reduce her to playgirl pin-up status it makes me crazy.

"Carter," I grab her, "we're dancing." I yank her along with me, even though she was mid-sentence.

"Sir," she's close to grumbling.

I take her in my arms on the dance floor and we start to move together. This is why I agreed to come here tonight. Sam promised me that she'd dance with me. I reconsider; maybe one of the four D's isn't so much Hell if it's with the right person.

My dancing partner says, "I thought they were old friends of yours."

"Not really."

Carter's fuming, I can tell. But she's trying to pretend otherwise because she doesn't want a scene.

"Sam," I say softly. "Trust me, they don't care about theories. They don't care if you're smart or stupid. They just want an excuse to look at your… lips."

She is quiet for a moment, weighing something important. "Are you sure you're not being an overprotective, jealous oaf?"

I pull her a fraction closer. She never believes herself to be as beautiful as she is. It's one of the thousands of reasons that I love her.

Maybe Sam's right, I'm sure a part of my reaction is that I hate this clandestine way we have to live. Not that it's illegal anymore, but still. The fact that Daniel has to come as her date so no one will suspect anything. The fact that I wish I could come into the room with her on my arm instead. I want the world to see how proud I am of her, how much I love everything about her, not just her beauty. It sometimes makes me crazy.

We sway in a circle for a moment. Sam adds, "And besides, don't you use excuses to look at me?"

"Well, that… that's different."

"How?" she asks.

Carter's letting me dig myself a grave, either I sound like I don't think she's nice to look at. Or I'm going to sound like I ogle over her like Marlis and Jordan just did. Either way I'm toast.

I spin her then draw her back in my arms. "This is nice," I whisper against her ear.

"You're changing the subject."

"Yep."

Later that night, we lay in the dark of my bedroom and I trace shapes on her naked back as our bodies cool down. Sam whispers, "Thanks for going tonight. I know you didn't want to at first."

"It was a good idea," I admit.

"Wish Daniel didn't have to come with on our date."

"Yeah."

We've had the conversation a thousand times, the one that starts with, "Are we doing the right thing by keeping this secret?" It's been months since she was no longer in my chain of command. But I have a hard time believing that our relationship would be overlooked without comment from someone, somewhere. I don't want to have that talk again right now about what we should do and when, and I really hope she doesn't want to rehash it either. It's nice just lying here, skin to skin, we don't have enough chances for this.

Sam says, "Marlis and Jordan seemed like nice guys."

Apparently she doesn't want to have "the talk" either. And after the guys got distracted with a cute 23-year-old bartender and left Carter alone they grew on me. "They're OK."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

After a pause, Carter asks, "Do you care if I'm smart or stupid?"

"I'm in awe of how brilliant you are."

"Yeah, but…" she sighs softly. My hands are relaxing her the way she likes. "If I looked the same but I was a dizzy dumb blonde would you have fallen in love with me?"

This is in the "do these jeans make my butt look fat" category. Nothing good ever comes from these. Women ask these questions with a very precise answer in mind that they are hoping to hear. Carter hardly ever does it, but apparently tonight is the exception. And like every man on the planet in a heterosexual relationship I'm going to end up at the predictable conclusion to these things. Either I'm going answer wrong and be in trouble. Or I'll answer right, but she'll suspect I'm lying just to tell her what she wants to hear. Either way, I'm not having sex again for a while. Damn.

"I don't know, Carter," I say, as I wonder for a moment if I can find a way out of this. "You are who you are, and I love you. Can we leave it at that?"

"No, I want to know." She sits up.

I groan. I'm never getting out of this. She's a woman on a mission now. She's looking at me like I'm an alien device that she's bound and determined to take apart and examine every little microscopic piece of.

I tell her, "I love that you're smart."

"So if I wasn't, you wouldn't love me?"

I try a different approach. "Sam, where is this coming from?"

"Those friends of yours tonight–"

"I said I knew them, they aren't friends."

Sam dismisses, "Look, the point is there are two types of men I attract. The ones who as you describe only like to look at me–"

"The types that you are sometimes oblivious to," I add.

Carter is startled, and I watch her think it over with her bottom lip caught between her teeth. After a second she nods slightly, either in agreement or just the wish to move on, I don't know.

Sam continues, "Then there's the type that I always dated. You know, the kind of guy who sat next to me in lab. As we worked on something over the course of a semester together, we'd share our enthusiasm for the experiments we were conducting. We would speculate who would win the Nobel Prize that year, talk about all kinds of things, and eventually grow fond of each other. Then he'd ask me out." She squints those baby blues at me and asks, "Which category are you in?"

"No, your butt does _not_ look fat in those jeans," I say wryly.

She gives me a small smile. "I am not doing that, Jack. I'm just curious."

I sigh, and finally answer her in a more serious tone. "I'm never gonna be the guy that gets excited about science with you. But I do appreciate your brains. I was proud every time you'd get us out of something. I like knowing that if my toaster breaks down you'll fix it for me even though I'd probably just throw it out and buy a new one. I like what's different about us. If you were dumb as a doorknob, well, then we'd be too much alike."

"You're smarter than that Jack O'Neill," she insists, but I only shrug.

"I'm not in the other category either," I point out, "because I do like lookin' at you. Except it's not the only thing I appreciate about you. You are a fine officer, brave, strong, you would never take a person's life for granted. You are fun to be with, have a sense of humor hiding in there somewhere. I like a lot of things about you, Sam, all of them actually."

She grins at me. "So, any suggestions on what we should call this brand new third category that you are in?"

"Me and only me for the rest of your life?" I ask hopefully.

"Oh, yes." She giggles and leans in, kissing me thoroughly.

Sweet, maybe I was wrong and I will see more bedroom action tonight.

It occurs to me that I learned an important lesson here. As long as I have this merciful, beautiful, smart, and a thousand other adjectives of a woman in my life, then I'm never going to be pathetic. Sam and I have something so special that we had to create a whole new category for it. She is the reason the best part of my life is most definitely ahead of me, not behind.

Beat that, Marlis and Jordan.


End file.
